Night Whispers
by Operatastic SuperSop
Summary: A collection of vignettes from various characters in Phantom. Mostly in chronological order, but not always. I'll fix that later. Leroux based. R
1. Night Visit From An Angel

_Erik's POV_

_Christine... Christine_...

I watch you as you sleep, and gently whisper your name in your tender ear. It comforts you, doesn't it? I am so close to you, I can hear you. I can _feel_ your life, your soft breathing. I can touch you, if I dared to, which I shudder to think of and _dare_ not. I can hear silent music pulsing and dancing in your veins, in your blood. You are peaceful and perfect.

You are Erik's. It was meant to be from before the world was made.

You will come to love Erik for himself. I know you will, for you will not see Erik's face. You will only know and recognize your poor, lonely Erik by that angelic voice you already are so infatuated with. You will know soon enough that Erik is no angel, but you will see him as a man, very, _very_ capable of loving... and being loved in return.

When you come to your Erik that day, Erik will give you this little golden ring that rests in his pocket. Erik will be your greatest friend, your soul's delight. Some day soon after, it will be your wedding ring. I feel a forbidden smile almost forming on my lips thinking about that day. You will cry of joy when hearing my wedding mass. It's a horrible thing to make you cry, a crime most worthy of death, but trust me, you will love these tears. The _Kyrie_ will make the world, and true angels, weep. Erik will be handsome in your eyes, for you will never see this monstrous, hideous face, and you will not care to pry. And you--you will be pure and white, radiant in gold. Your gown will be decorated in the finest gems, including little sapphires, emeralds, amethyst, diamonds, rubies, anything your heart delights in. And you will be wearing this ring, the first gift you receive from Erik. You will be as beautiful as a corpse, and you will come to your pitiful Erik as a goddess.

And your lips will... they will touch Erik's. Could it be? You will kiss me on that day, Christine, and... you will let Erik kiss you. My lips are quivering, my heart plunging into an icy ocean of terror at the thought. What a dream, an absolute--impossible! Am I permitted to _think_ it? Is your love possible? Will you ever hold me, kiss me, love me... _alive_?

You're singing in your sleep! I love that little habit of yours. Such sweet, melancholy and passionate sounds mix into the air which I so undeservedly breathe, filling me. I am coming to tears. This air filled with you is keeping miserable Erik alive. What a lovely, unusual, yet fitting, habit for a wife. Yes, my coy, little dove, you and I are meant to be, and there is nothing that can or shall prevent that fantastic fate--

But wait. There is one annoying snag in those designs I have forgotten--that tragically heartsick, petty viscount, that young and meddling fool. So, it seems you know him, and he knows you. I am sure he has a few more intentions on his mind than exchanging a few casual pleasantries. I will fix that shortly. You cannot have an angel of music and a man, Christine. You will not be able to marry him, for your soul belongs to music!--belongs to _me_. You won't be able to refuse your angel's strict request, for you love your angel. You love your Erik.

What a pretentious little _schoolgirl_ that Chagny is! He is scarcely a man, in more ways than one, only a fashionable imposter. He already is despairing of your love, and you two have not yet met! Give pity to that poor, sweet, innocent, ignorant, fatuitous idiot. Look how adorably sweet, how charmingly noble his love is! It's positively darling that he would sacrifice family pride and honor just for you. What a noble, infatuated youth. How tragic, how woeful it is that he is desirous of death for your unrequited love! What a perfect little Romeo he thinks he is to your Juliet! Ha! Yes, indeed, what a pleasant little star-crossed tragedy! Oh, that poor, poor Chagny. He will just have to live with disappointment, with harbored, unrequited love. Perhaps he will die as he wishes to, and I won't have to grant it. After all, I _did_ promise Daroga I would murder no more... but since when do I care about Daroga? Oh, Chagny. How tiringly, pathetically dramatic.

No matter. He is insignificant, not even _worthy_ to be considered an adversary or a threat, even more so when you fall in love with _me, _as I am. And you, Christine, _will_ fall in love with me. It is inevitable. We _will_ be together, no matter what. You will be my wife, even if it means in death.

Cursed daylight! The hour has come that divides us. I must go now, my little, precious angel; your piteous Erik, your Angel and maestro and husband soon to be, will return again for you tonight as scheduled. Don't be late, dearest, and worry not a thought for that little viscount. For now, rest in deathly sleep, and dream a few pleasant dreams of love; you will receive an abundance of it beyond all your imagining when you have married your Erik.


	2. Chagny's Lament

_Raoul's POV_

Oh, Christine, why are you so cold? Why are you so mysterious? And who was _that_ in your room, who so suddenly disappeared? It is almost as if your lover was a ghost, for he was there with you in your dressing room, and now he is not there! I know I am not hallucinating; I _heard_ him—I swear by _Jove_ I did!—through the door. He also refuses to come out from where he is hiding, the coward, or respond to my addresses.

I still am quite shocked and hurt that you can hardly remember me, the little boy who went into the sea to retrieve your scarf at Trestrau. We spent days together--we were _inseparable_! Don't you recall how I was quite jittery with love for you then? Don't you understand that I still am? How can you hardly even remember those days? It is difficult and impossible to believe that you don't even care about them anymore. Oh, Christine... _Christine_...

I hardly _know_ you anymore. Your actions are like a knife to my heart. It was a very sneaky, devilish trick to chase away every person from your dressing room so that you could entertain a secret lover _alone_! Hm! I do not know who this nameless rival is, but I assure you, whatever he has done to change your purity, I will _not_ stand for. This action is so unlike you, Christine. Why would this be a secret affair, except for the reason that it is impure? How could you hide this from us all, from me, fooling us, fooling _me_, your friend?

I remember that you were once a sweet, charming, honest little girl. What happened? This little secret of yours drives me to _hatred_ of him, your _lover_. I would not so much oppose him if I believed that he wasn't compromising your innocence, your beauty and purity. As long as these incriminating facts stand, I think you owe me an explanation, and I think he owes you one. You are deliberately deceiving me, and he is deceiving you. I can forgive you if you would just stop and explain everything, but I cannot forgive him; he is pulling you away from me. If I ever find out who this is, I swear, I might—kill him. I just might. I'm already driven into a fit of madness with love for you; who knows what I in my insanity might attempt.

Christine..._Christine_... your name scars my heart. I heard it being engraved violently and erratically when I heard you sing as _Marguerite_. My heart is still freshly pounding from your triumph. What an angelic tone you sang with which I did not _know_ you owned! I can't recall a moment you sang so heavenly, so divine, even _before_ your father's passing. Never had I known that you had so much passion, so much _love_ in your voice.

But now bitterly and painfully I recall: you sang for him, your _lover_, as I overheard you tell him so rapturously. The thought of it brings another piercing blow. Why, Christine, didn't you say a word to any of your closest friends, if not to me? Why do you shield your greatest and happiest—or darkest—secrets from us who love you? Who _are_ you?

Don't think you are going to be able to keep casting me aside, Christine. I'm going to get to the bottom of this affair, if not for your sake, then for the sake of my crazed heart and poor, demented mind, even if it means that I will have to _kill_ this rival of mine, as much as I fear to contemplate it. As a good Catholic, I know I should forgive, and I should love my enemies... but what about you, Christine? He is drawing you away from your family and friends, away from me, away from _yourself_. Doesn't that constitute as murdering you? I love you beyond pride, honor, title, beyond life _itself_, and nothing will pain me more to see you being murdered by this false lover and his cruel deceptions. I won't let him destroy or stain you any more than he already has.

Perhaps, then, it is time we got reacquainted, Miss Daae.


	3. My Soul Was Weak!

A/N: I decided to try something a little different than the introspective one-shots. Hope you like it!

_Christine and her Angel_

Christine closed the door to her dressing room, feeling completely drained. Her eyes were sunken, dark, and downcast, surrounded by gray-tinged circles. She looked ready to fall apart.

"_Christine," _her angel addressed softly.

At the sound of his voice, Christine's lip trembled, and unable to hide her guilt, she burst into tears.

"_What troubles you, child?"_

"Oh, angel," she sobbed, "forgive me!"

"_Why? What have you done?"_

Christine sobbed and threw herself on the floor, kneeling in a lamentable, pitiable mess.

"I know you told me that I cannot have an angel of music and a man. I've tried so hard to—I really did—but I can't—_he won't leave me alone_! " she strangled out incoherently.

"_Who won't, my dear?"_

"Raoul!" she gasped.

There was a silent pause, filled with unsaid, almost hostile things, which only made Christine more hysterical.

"_Say_ something, angel! Please, say something. I am trying so hard to avoid him, to treat him just as anyone else, as you say to, but he won't let me!—he is just too insistent. Tonight, he followed me after rehearsal, then he cornered me and demanded that I answer his questions! I—I had no choice!"

"_What did you say?"_

There was a tinge of anxiety, pain and anger in her angel's voice. His reaction made Christine only burst into more tears.

"I told him about you, angel," she replied miserably and inconsolably continued. "He demanded to know who was speaking with me after the performance of _Faust_, after I sent everyone away--"

The angel mumbled something.

"What are you saying, angel? I cannot hear you. Please, don't be angry with me, angel, please, I beg you--"

"_I thought I told you to keep our lessons secret."_

"I didn't want to tell!" she cried defensively, her voice growing hoarse, "but—but he _pressured_ me! He kept charging me with being dishonorable! He thought I was being impure with a secret lover! He had heard your voice, a voice I so selfishly thought only _I_ could hear, and assumed the worst! How clumsy was my mistake, how... oh, my wretched, _wretched_, weak soul! I am unworthy of your kindnesses! He won't leave me alone! Not even... it's so strange, angel, he... I can't..."

"_What is it, child?"_

Christine tried to collect herself, but miserably failed. She buried her face in her hands in shame. "I have tried for your sake, angel, but I can't get him out of my mind."

That brought a very uncomfortable, tensed and angry silence from her angel. Christine only wept all the more. She was becoming weak from so much crying.

"Oh, angel, forgive me! Have mercy! Please... please... I will avoid him more fervently. Please, angel, I'll avoid him with all my soul! Just don't abandon me! You--_you're all I have_!"

The mood of the silence softened with that last remark. Christine continued to shed tears miserably.

"_Don't cry, child. Be still."_

Christine tried her best to calm down, hiccupping every now and then a little sob.

"_There. Be calm_. _Do you love me, Christine?"_

Christine nodded, her tears evaporating in innocence. "Very, _very_ much, angel."

The tension finally dissolved. The sweet sadness of her angel's voice returned, filling the room with a warmth.

"_I will have mercy on you, child, as long as you promise to avoid him. He is an object of temptation for you. He will drag you down into the cares of this world, and then you will no longer be able to sing like the angels."_

"I'll avoid him, angel," Christine said, relieved that she obtained forgiveness. "Thank you. I'm unworthy of your kindnesses."

There fell a short, almost unearthly silence, which Christine luxuriously absorbed.

"_Tell me, my dear: do you plan on going to your father's grave tonight?"_

"Yes," Christine said, a plaintive and innocently sad look coming upon her. She kept her troubled thoughts inside.

"_If you promise not to see Raoul, I will play the Resurrection of Lazarus for you on his old violin at his grave. Would you like that?" _

Christine's dark eyes sparkled with a supernatural, glittery glow. Any trace of death on her countenance faded away. "Yes, very much! I live for your music!"

Her angel laughed. _"Then I shall play for you. But you must remember your promise not to see the viscount."_

"I promise with all my soul, angel," Christine said sincerely, becoming evermore radiant.

Christine could sense her angel smiling. _"I will hold you to that promise. Now, let's commence with your voice lesson."_


	4. Growing Madness And War!

A/N: Ok, back to the introspective one-shots for now. Most of this is going to be like the first two chapters, but every now and then, I'll throw in something that looks like chapter 3... Um, I hope this doesn't sound like a repeat of Chapter 1. If it does, I'll delete it and add something with the managers instead (because we haven't gotten to them yet!). Read and Review!

_Erik's POV_

I play your father's violin in a special concert, only for you. I am still in agony, for you love that which you do not yet know. But...

You love me.

My Christine _loves_ me.

You love _me_.

I can hardly believe it. Christine loves--_me_! I... a deep crescendo of blood has been racing through me all night, especially now as the power of this music possesses me. I feel like I'm alive, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps it is because I am among my brethren, the dead, and am the first to be resurrected by you, my love—_Christine is alive_!

Aha! I knew it. You _will _be my living wife. But Christine cannot love an angel, _just_ an angel. No. You cannot marry an angel who plays you pretty music. Christine can only marry and love a man.

Christine must learn that her angel is a man, and soon.

I feel the gold ring lightly dancing in my pocket. Oh, I recall how my fingers tingle in burning ecstasy when I hold it! My body collapses in tremulous delight with crushing thoughts of love, at the thought of our wedding day again and again... I cannot get you out of my mind, Christine. Erik sings, breathes, and _lives _always and forever in and with Christine, as one body and not two. Erik and Christine will be one person.

The time is drawing ever nearer when you will be wearing this ring, the first step in our engagement. Thinking of it terrifies and exhilarates me. I see you now before me suddenly and vividly as the moon discards a trivial and thick veil of clouds. The moonlight nakedly beams on my Christine, revealing every sweet detail, every dulcet habit and look and attitude of Christine's, and—and—

_I must have you_. I play the violin even harder, breaking into a cold sweat in the snowy graveyard. I must, simply _must_. You are driving me completely _mad_ with love. I can hardly contain myself. Love, love, sweet and tender _love_!

I—I am in tears for love of you! Oh, Christine, you cannot—and mustn't!—continue to live with an illusion! You must know and soon that Erik is a man, and then you will—you must—love me as I am! But Christine must never know what lies behind this mask, for Erik knows that as long as Christine believes him to be handsome, Christine will fall in love, hopelessly and completely and deeply in love, with me, her poor Erik.

My lip trembles and I crumble in submission to your beauty, to your existence, to your presence—completely to _Christine_. Oh, God, I am nothing more than a lowly dog, a little child when you, a--a _true_ angel, are near me! My mind is weakened and conquered; my heart is nearly dead with love from this unquenchable thirst for you to be _mine_, finally, totally, completely, and only _mine_. If you do not consent to be my living wife, we—we will have to be married in death. There is no other way or option. Our marriage has been predestined by the Fates, and must occur either way, depending on which you choose.

Ah, my poor eyes are moist with tears with a longing so deep, I feel _agony_ in your tantalizing presence! Christine... _Christine_... always so close, but always too far for Erik's reach!

Ah! I can't take this madness any longer! You will know your Erik soon enough—you will love him for himself! _And you will know he loves you beyond life itself_! Oh, see how your pitiable Erik loves you... only _you_ make Erik feel alive, lovely Christine. _Ah_... your poor, lonely Erik...

Wait... who is that, behind the gravestones? Someone is intruding on us, Christine! Who has the audacity--

It's that blasted, meddling, irksome Chagny! What on earth has possessed him to follow you here? Oh, I see—it's his _jealousy_. Does he honestly believe he can rival me? Well, if it is a war he wishes, _it is a war he shall have_!

You are _mine_, Christine, do you hear me? _Mine_! You cannot love him, Christine, you—_you will not_! You will love _me_ for myself, and consent to be _my_ wife. Mine! There is no rival in your love for me, there cannot be, there _will not be_! There mustn't be. Especially not that horrible Chagny that plagues your mind and tempts you to hurt your angel. Do you recall, dear Christine, how you live for your angel's music? He will never let you hear it again. He will kill you for his own interest in you. You will die with him...but you will come to know that soon enough, my dear.

I have finished the Resurrection of Lazarus for you, Christine. I... I melt in your radiant light. Your eyes are beaming with the intensity of the stars, the result of _my music_! If only you knew how my heart burns with just as much shining love! Ah! Oh... my heart is full of cold and hot fire. Don't worry about hurting your angel anymore, for your angel will take care of the viscount for you. Once he sees my Death's head, he will no longer bother you, for a little while at least. If he had any decency, he would leave you alone now, but he will eventually be put in his place by a little discipline. Perhaps then he will grow bored of his childish infatuation and finally leave us alone.

I grow tired of playing with this child and his world of pretend; aren't you, Christine? Yes, you are; you hate displeasing your angel. What does he mean by following you, interrogating you as though you have committed a crime against him? Well, don't worry a bit, my dear, lovely Christine: that little game of detective shall end soon, and you will have Erik to love. In fact, you will meet your Erik tonight--no, tomorrow--and _that_, Christine, will be the day that you first love me! Chagny will soon mean less than a trifle to you.

He still has not left! He is looking for me, no doubt, since you have departed in joy, full of love for me. You didn't even notice him on your way out, did you? Ha!

Well, little Chagny, did you want to play with me? Did you wish to see how close you can get to the fire and play with it before you are burned? Well, then so be it!

Let there be war between us, you meddlesome young suitor, you puerile _fool_!


	5. She Does Not Know Me!

**A/N:** Sorry for the severe lack of updates. :o I lacked inspiration for a long time, so I had to go back and re-read Leroux's novel... but I didn't want to read it online again like I did the first time, so I went to Borders and picked up a copy about last week. I'm currently reading it again, so I have some inspiration now! (yay) This is jumping out of the chronological order (I hope you don't mind). Sorry... without further ado:

_Raoul's POV_

No, no, none of these girls are Christine... where is she? I saw her perform onstage tonight as _Siebel_... oh, God, will she even look at me this time?

Does she even remember me?

Ah, what a wretched, tragic thought! What a terrible, cursed, most likely truthful idea! She may _not_ remember me, the little boy who went into the sea to fetch her red scarf. I remember the water was so cold, and I was soaked... my governess was not happy, and I had gotten quite a lecture afterwards, but... Christine appeared to be an absolute angel. I was enthralled in her beauty...and she had given a cry that sounded so innocently and perfectly despairing, my little heart had been so moved... I was merely a boy; now, I am a man, and I cherish her beauty and her innocence more than ever...

Oh, Raoul, you are pathetic! Pathetic, pathetic, _pathetic! _What makes you believe that she is still that same little girl at Trestrau? She may be in love with another... ah, I daren't think it! I mustn't! It would be like daggers to my heart!

Why is she taking so long? Perhaps I missed her! But, no, she always comes this way... patience...

Oh, I can wait no longer! I must find her; I must confess my heart's complete devotion to her! I am consumed with love--

Wait—I see her eyes—are they hers?--yes! Two aesthetic pools of celestial glory! Ah, my soul! Her eyes shine like divinely shaped sapphires... At last! Oh, God in Heaven!

Blessed, blessed, blessed day! _She has seen me_! I've caught her eye! _I must speak with her! _If only these ballet rats would get out of my way!

But... wait... _wait_! Christine! _Christine_!

Oh, endless, wretched sorrow! She looked right through me, as though I were but a ghost, and kept walking. Oh, unfeeling girl! Perhaps she did not see me... but it was too obvious! I know she saw me! I could have sworn I had seen a shining light in her eye that had said, "I know you, Raoul de Chagny!"...but she does not know me! Oh, poor me!

Perhaps she simply did recognize me...or did she choose not to recognize me? Oh, dear Lord, maybe I have offended her in some way! What have I done to offend her so mightily? Did I not recognize her sooner? Is she afraid I don't recognize her? Perhaps I am not trying hard enough to please her? Oh, dear Lord, let me just speak with her once, and know for certain that she still loves me!

Oh, my heart fills with complete dread and horror! What if she truly does not remember me?

Oh, don't be silly, Raoul. How could she forget all those days we spent, dancing and playing and listening to her father's fantastic stories of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music? Didn't she remember how I told her that I would never forget her? I remember how innocently she blushed--what a fair shade of crimson! I regretted it much afterward, for our classes were so different, I could not ever hope to marry her...perhaps that is why she is indifferent to me. Oh, but if she only knew how much I love her now! I am so madly in love, I would follow her to the ends of the earth, even if I had to _crawl_, and then once I had found her, I would _beg_ her to marry me!

Alas, poor me, for she has locked herself up in her dressing room and it is said she desires to see no one. Is she ill? I hope to God she is not!

Oh, Christine... oh, my poor heart... you have spurned me again today, crushing the little shred of hope I had of speaking to you today! Even more cursedly, I must leave soon, for my brother is returning with Sorelli.

Tomorrow, Christine—I vow this to myself and to you, my little angel!—tomorrow, after the performance of Faust... I will speak with you, and demand with all the courage I have to muster your memory for my sake to recall me, still just a wretched boy tormented with love...


	6. It Is Finished

_Erik's POV_

Finally... after these twenty, long, grueling years...

_It... is finished_.

The greatest masterpiece that has ever been composed on earth, in any age, decade, century, millennium... is finally complete. A virginal masterpiece, never before performed in its full, tasted in its dark and hallowed, wretched glory... never having yet possessed any soul so fully as it has possessed mine, its master and creator...

_Don Juan Triumphant_.

All my sorrows and pains... all my loneliness, wretchedness, unworthiness... all of Erik's hideousness, his hellishness, his anguish and suffering... his wicked laughter and all his burning sins... his failures and triumphs... bound so simply intricate in the golden pages of this manuscript.

_Hell burns in these pages_.

Heaven?

Yes... Heaven, too, shines in these pages. Angels—I heard them!—_I sensed them_--wept beside me, pitied me... their pity is now the most lovely music ever to grace mankind...alas, how a faint chorus it is...but it is still there, and is quite aesthetic...

_Christine_...

Her soul has been imprinted like flashes of fire on these last pages, forever her purest divinity entwined with my villainous, unworthy, _unworthy_ soul! Oh, what an _angel_ she is... her hair is like gleaming silk...so soft, so deliciously scented! She astounds me! Even in the darkness of the abyss of this place... her eyes light up more fairly, more purely than light itself, I am sure! Her eyes mingle with mine and become one... I have her eyes... I! I see through them, in them, _with them_... and her delicate, full figure, more smooth, flawless and white than _Pygmalion's Galetea_, which I carved! I! How great a work of art!... her seraphic voice... She truly, truly _is_ an angel! She is the Angel of Music_ incarnate_! Ah! _Most wretched heart!_ She is mine! Mine!

_I must have her_!

And now... I can. The fatal work is complete... the greatest composition to ever grace the face of the earth...

And the world will never know such greatness. The world and all its members will never burn as much as Erik has burned for the sake of this music... this music is too dark, too real, too powerful for them to know or understand...It will remain five floors below the Opera forever, trapped in the Darkness--where it was born and created--isolated from the Light, sequestered and protected from foolish men and their artificial civility, their superficial manners and lack of discretion... I should love to make them _burn_ with this music, oh, I should love to see their souls _squirm_ and their flesh become pallid and _full of death_, like mine! That they could be _consumed_ in my gruesome Fate and know my tormenting _ugliness_ for themselves, and drink _heavily_ of the cup from which I have drunk for so many _long_ and _painful_ years! ...but I will not give them the pleasure of such hellish indulgence... to do such a thing would waste what little of my life is left... that life belongs to Christine, my lovely, perfect bride-to-be! It would not be fair to her to throw my life away. Since I am the only one who can perform it to perfection--yes, only I, Erik--it will never be played at all.

Oh, Christine, my beautiful and perfect, _perfect_ Christine, who loves me for myself, _as I am_! You bring tears to my eyes—such good and holy tears!—thinking of it! That so late in life, I should _finally_ find my blessing! I should _finally_ be like everyone else! I, Erik! I! ...I! At last!

I will not tarry another minute away in little dreams and fantasies! I must see you _now_, and hear your voice, that I might see your rounded, lovely hand and think of touching it--kissing it!--and see you playing so artfully with that poor little Chagny's heart. If I did not know you better, I would truly think you to love him! How delightfully clever you are in that game! You please Erik very much and make him smile. But I know you love me, and you will always love me... _forever_...

_Fate links thee to me forever and a day_...


	7. In Death!

_Erik's POV_

_Christine... Christine_...

_All of the opera is mine, not just the trapdoors_.

She has _betrayed_ Erik... She does not love him... She has fooled him, deceived him... deceived her Erik... He frightens her... she despises him... she is disgusted by him... she has told all his secrets to her _lover_, that foolish, inexperienced, little _Chagny_! Oh, let the deadly flames of Hell envelop Erik again, _let him burn in his fatal rage_!

She--Christine, my wife!--kissed that ignorant little _boy_... she gave him her lips, those lips Erik has forever dreamed of touching with his own unworthy pair, since before the world was made... those lips were Erik's own...

And she gave them to another.

_Oh, frailty, thy name is woman! _

You plan to escape your Erik, to abandon him, to appease him by one simple, deceptive visit before leaving forever? _Perfidous, capricious woman_! Erik knows you now, and you will learn not to deceive again...Oh, what piercing, mortal _agony_ you have filled miserable Erik with! You care not one trifle for my shadow a life... your devotion was a lie... you are well aware that your Erik is already long dead with love, and if he should be separated from you, _he should die_... He cannot live without you! _You must love him_! If you won't... Erik will _make_ you!

Oh, he knew you would never wish to return willingly once you had torn off so disgracefully, so plainly and scornfully _that mask_...that mask Erik wore only for you... Oh, curse Erik! Pity little Erik even _once_, cold-hearted, faithless woman! I thought it had been Chagny we had been playing with the matter of the "secret engagement", but now I see the truth... it was _Erik_ who was the fool, the joke, the laugh, the show! She laughs disdainfully on my genius, she shrinks in horror at Erik's hideous face... Oh, agony! Death creeps into my cold blood! I knew I should have kept you! I should never have let you return to the opera, to _him, _to continue this cruel joke on Erik's heart! Erik should never have believed such pretty words you spoke, that made Erik feel that he had died and gone to Heaven and lived with the Queen of Angels! Oh, death, death, consume Erik's body! Why let poor Erik live a day longer, knowing his life is lived in vain?

Erik will never make that mistake again. _Erik will never let Christine return_. Christine is Erik's; Christine _is_ Erik. _He will have Christine, and nothing will not stop him_! Not even Death will stop Erik now. Oh, cruel Christine, you now give burning, anguished Erik no alternatives! What a fickle woman! _What a lying serpent_!

You think you can fool your Erik in so simple, so carefree a fashion? How foolish, how blind, how ignorant and fatuitous do I seem to you, Christine? How _dare_ you play me the fool! _I will not be fooled_! Erik will not be deceived!

What's this, gleaming so simply on the ground? The ring... the gold ring, so purely and elegantly fashioned, which Erik had put on Christine's delicate, living, godly finger... how she despised with such fire my touching her lovely, perfect hand! Oh, curse Erik! _Curse_ him for his unworthiness! Curse him for his hideousness!

But her ring is discarded...the ring I gave her, which she said she would always wear, with such a piteously lovely glow all about her...it must have been so easily thrown away when she kissed _him_. All her vows are miserably, miserably broken. Oh, my heart! Oh, my blackened, burning _soul_! Oh, Christine..._Christine_...

So be it. Christine thinks she is clever in breaking all her lovely promises, which Erik valued more than all the precious jewels in the world...but Erik will not be fooled again.

If she considers her vows broken, _then so are mine!_

We are one, Christine, and you shall learn not to spurn Erik's heart again. I will not be played the fool... Erik cannot stand to burn another day in your cursed ambiguity. No more shall I be your greatest friend, Christine, who showed you such love, tenderness, and kindness, _but your greatest enemy_! Erik told you—_he shall have his revenge_! Such treachery, _such treachery_... oh, curse Erik! _Curse Erik_! Curse his wretched death's head! Curse his heart which loved so much, it _burned_ him! It ravaged, pillaged, and _destroyed_ him!

It could have saved him...

Tomorrow, Christine, you will not come to me willingly, but I will take you! Tomorrow, you will be given the choice to either be my wife in life or death! Tomorrow, you decide, and tomorrow, your charade will end! Enjoy your last night playing the tease! _I will be teased no more_!

And if you refuse me—we shall be married _in death_!


End file.
